


I can’t take back the words I never said

by iwillnotbecaged



Series: Flying high without ever leaving the ground [8]
Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Background Relationships, Homophobia, Homophobic Language, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Racism, Sam/Steve/Bucky - Freeform, Slurs
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-25
Updated: 2016-01-25
Packaged: 2018-05-16 02:25:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,859
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5809993
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/iwillnotbecaged/pseuds/iwillnotbecaged
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What if Riley and Sam were just wingmen, not best friends? What if Riley wasn't a really great guy? What if he was actually a dick?</p><p>aka Sam Wilson deals with a bunch of bullshit he should never have to deal with</p>
            </blockquote>





	I can’t take back the words I never said

**Author's Note:**

> See end notes for more info about the tags.
> 
> Thanks to [SD_Ryan](http://archiveofourown.org/users/SD_Ryan/pseuds/SD_Ryan) and [Ragazza_Guasto](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Ragazza_Guasto) for the read-throughs and input. Love y'all!
> 
> Title from "Words I Never Said" by Lupe Fiasco, feat. Skylar Grey

The first thing Sam Wilson thought when he met Jake Riley was “this guy is kind of a dick.” Unfortunately, there wasn’t really anything that happened over the next six years that would change that initial assessment.

Sam generally tried to give people the benefit of the doubt. Just because a guy was describing the girl he had slept with the night before he left for training in less than flattering terms doesn’t mean he’s all bad. Maybe he was just posturing for a new crowd, trying to act like he figured they would expect him to act. Sam would give him a few days, try to feel out what kind of person he really was. Even if everything about him screamed “dick” at the moment.

 

“Yo, Wilson! What’s up, man?” Riley caught up to him and offered his hand for a fist bump.

Sam obliged, sighing internally. It had been a long day of training and he did not have the energy for this white boy. “Hey, Riley.”

“Seriously, homie, what’s up? You got plans tonight?” It hadn’t escaped Sam’s notice that Riley never called any of the white guys in training “homie”. Although at least with the black guys there was some variety in what he called them; Martinez was always just “amigo”.

“Yeah - I’m gonna try not to fall asleep in the shower and then go to bed.” Sam kept walking, hoping Riley would get the message. He didn’t.

“Aw, c’mon. You should come out for drinks with us, maybe have a little fun with a sweet honey. It’s not like we have to be up early tomorrow.”

“I’m really beat. Y’all go on without me this time.”

“Whatever you say, dude. Your loss.”

 

Pararescue training was no joke. Sam ached in places he didn’t know he could ache and when his body wasn’t killing him, his brain felt like it was going to explode with all the new information he was trying to cram into it. There’s a lot of team-building and practice working together and talks of the necessity of bonding. These are the men who will hold his life in their hands when they’re deployed, and vice versa. 

He doesn’t have to like them; he just has to trust them.

 

“Alright boys - SHOTS!”

“Three cheers for Redmond!” Riley knocked back his shot and slapped Redmond on the back. “You are a really great guy, you know that?”

“I _do_ know that, my man. I am the _best_ guy. And that is exactly why I’m gonna go over there and give that fine piece of ass an opportunity to enjoy all of this.” Redmond pointed at a woman at the bar, then puffed out his chest and gestured to himself.

“I didn’t know you liked dark chocolate.” Riley leaned into Redmond, slurring his words a bit. “That is some seriously dark chocolate right there.”

“Man, I like all ladies, as long as they ain’t too big. I ain’t a racist piece of shit like you. Now get off me and let me go get some.” Redmond shoved Riley away and headed over to the bar. 

Riley slung an arm around Sam’s neck instead, backwards cap slightly askew. “Why so quiet over here, Sammy? Is it cause Redmond said I’m racist? You know I’m not really racist, right? One of my best friends growing up was black.” Riley leered and took another gulp of his beer. “His older sister was damn fine, too.”

“Yeah, okay Riley. Whatever you say.” Sam removed Riley’s arm and finished off his beer.

“You know what you need?”

“Another drink?” Sam asked dryly. 

“You need— you need to get laid.” Riley attempted to whisper the end of his sentence, but didn’t quite manage it. “I don’t think you’ve gotten laid since we’ve been here, man. That’s too long. Way too long. We should find you a girl.” Riley spun to survey the room.

Sam grabbed him before he could topple over. “I’m alright. Maybe we should think about getting you home there, buddy.”

“But it’s still early! We gotta find you a girl! Just leave it to me - I’m a great wingman.” Riley snorted. “Ha, wingman! Get it? Cause the Air Force?”

“Hilarious, Riley. A-plus humor right there.”

“Why won’t you let me get you a girl, Sammy? Are you gay or something? You don’t look like a fag.” Riley squinted at him, then shook his head. “Psshh, what am I even saying? No way a fag would have made it this far.”

“You’re wasted, man. Let’s go.”

 

Rumors were flying through the PJ candidates that the higher-ups were looking for people for a classified new program. Everyone agreed that Martinez and Bedell were shoo-ins, but Sam heard his name a lot too. And Riley’s. It sounded like an interesting opportunity.

 

“So, Sammy, I heard you got picked for this Falcon thing, too.” Riley sat down at the table across from Sam.

“Yep. Just found out for sure this morning.” Sam took a bite of his meatloaf. Maybe. There was definitely some type of meat product in there.

“You gonna do it? The whole thing seems pretty fucking awesome, even if it is batshit crazy.” Riley didn’t bother to cover his mouth while he spoke.

“Oh, I’m totally in. Sure, it’s nuts, but who could pass up an opportunity like this? Didn’t you dream of flying when you were a kid? Try and jump off of roofs and shit?”

“Nah, not me. I was the kid on the ground laughing his ass off at the idiot on the roof. Lemme guess - you tied a towel around your neck cause you thought it would make you look like Superman.”

“I can neither confirm nor deny the veracity of that accusation,” Sam said haughtily.

“Oh, check out the college boy over here, with his fancy words. I guess that brain is why you got picked. It definitely wasn’t because of your muscle mass.”

“Whatever, dick. I wiped the floor with you on the obstacle course just yesterday.” Sam and Riley continued to give each other shit for the rest of the meal and on the way back to the barracks. This could work, Sam thought. For something like the Falcon program? Yeah, this could work. It would be worth it in the end.

 

Flying was everything Sam imagined it would be and more. 

Well, sometimes. Most of the time, it was the most stressful thing he had ever done. The prototype wings required constant evaluation and adjustment and intense focus. He had to be aware of every muscle and in control of every movement just to maneuver in the air. On top of that, he had to be aware of his teammates and where they were in the sky. And the mission objective and the weather conditions and the terrain below. He learned to control the wings and his weapons, to keep an eye out for enemy fire, to scan the ground for his target. After a 30-minute training flight, he felt like he had run a marathon while doing differential calculus. In his head.

But sometimes when the training exercise was finished, they would get a few minutes to just play around with the wings. All in the name of getting more comfortable with the equipment, of course. It was during these moments that Sam remembered why he had signed up for this in the first place. He would tune out the chatter of his teammates and just _soar_. In the sky he could leave behind all the constraints of the world and just focus on the movements of his wings. There was no pressure to censor his words or actions; he didn’t have to worry about how he was being perceived; he could just let go and _be_.

 

“Looks like it’s you and me, Riley.”

“Awesome, man! I was hoping it would be me and you. I was worried for a minute that I’d get stuck with Bedell, but he’s with Martinez.”

“What do you got against Bedell?”

“Nothing really, but don’t tell me you haven’t noticed it. Yeah, sure, ‘don’t ask, don’t tell’ and all that shit, but sometimes you don’t even have to ask.”

Keep your mouth shut, Sam. Try not to react.

“Don’t look at me like that, man. It doesn’t matter to me where the guy shoves his dick. I just don’t want to worry that my wingman is checking out my ass instead of paying attention in the air, you know?”

Yeah, Sam knew. Sam knew all too well.

 

Training ended and deployment began. Afghanistan lived up to its reputation; it was hot and dusty, except for when it was freezing cold. The Falcon Squadron bounced around between forward operating bases, going from Salerno to Scorpion to Farrah and back again. They were loaned out to whoever needed them most at the time. It kept them busy, but it also kept them from really getting to know anyone outside of their own unit.

Some of the other units thought they were elitist, but it didn’t bother Sam. They did things no one else could do, and he was proud of that. They went into the hottest of hotspots and pulled off rescues that would have been impossible with any other equipment. Sam wasn’t about to apologize for being a badass motherfucker, and neither was anyone else in the unit.

 

“You ready to go kill some goat fuckers, Wilson?”

“I’m ready to go get our guys back.”

“To-may-to, to-mah-to.”

“Shut your mouth and fly. We got work to do.”

 

They lost Redmond first, during the capture of Khalid Khandil. The mission was a success, but the loss was difficult. Redmond’s wingman left the program shortly afterwards, returning to the 58th as a standard pararescueman.

Martinez was next. He was shot down when they faced heavy fire on a rescue mission in Kandahar. Bedell tried to go after him, but the enemy got to him first and held him hostage. Six months later, they released a video of his execution.

Bedell got a new wingman straight from training and they all continued on. They completed hundreds of missions and played video games and talked shit. New guys came in and a few guys cycled out. Most days it was business as usual. Some days it was hell.

On a routine rescue mission, Sam watched an RPG hit Riley and knock him out of the sky. One minute he was right beside him, chattering his normal nonsense through the comms, and the next he was gone. All Sam could do was watch.

 

“Riley was a good man. We’re gonna miss him around here.”

“It’s a fucking shame, dude. That guy was the best.”

“You holding up okay, Wilson? He was your wingman.”

“Yeah. I’m, uh...yeah.”

 

After everything was said and done, Sam moved in with Sarah until he could get back on his feet. It was good to be near family and helping out with Jody gave him something to concentrate on, something to get him out of his head. Lidia, his therapist at the VA, liked to remind him how lucky he was to have a strong support system to help him readjust to civilian life.

 

“How has your sleep been this week?”

“Pretty good, considering. Sarah’s been out of town on business and Jody’s done a good job of tiring me out.”

“Toddlers will do that. What else have you been doing?”

“Mostly the usual. Going to the gym, watching Netflix, looking for an apartment. And before you ask, no, still no luck on that front. I, uh, I also went to Gideon’s church on Sunday.”

“How was that?”

“Good. Mostly? Strange, really. Made me feel like a kid again, kinda.”

Lidia waited. She was good at telling when there was more Sam wanted to say. He liked that about her.

“This week will be one year since Riley died. I think that’s why I finally decided to go. I’m not really sure what I was looking for though.”

“Absolution?”

“Maybe. I don’t know, though. I don’t really feel...guilty. At least not the way other people seem to.”

“Recovery is different for everyone, Sam. You lost someone close to you, but that doesn’t mean you’ll feel the same as other people who lost someone. Survivor’s guilt isn’t one size fits all.”

“Yeah...I guess. Maybe this’ll just be another one of those things I don’t know yet.”

“And that’s alright, too. Why don’t we talk about some other things that might come up around the anniversary?”

“Okay. Sounds like a plan.”

 

Sam figured out pretty quickly that it was Captain fucking America that was trolling him on his morning run. It was not the kind of behavior his history classes had prepared him for from Steve Rogers. And those classes definitely hadn’t prepared him for what appeared to be a pretty smooth attempt at flirting.

Rogers showing up at the VA was a bit more expected. He seemed like the kind of guy who would want to lend a hand. He also seemed like the kind of guy who was in complete denial about the fact that he needed a hand.

 

“What makes you happy?”

“I don’t know.”

“That’s not as uncommon as you probably think. Lots of people take a while to find happy again when they get back.”

“So how do you do it?”

“In my experience? Trial and error. Time. Patience.”

“I’ve never been a very patient guy.”

“Yeah, I guessed that from reading between the lines of the history books.”

 

Sam woke with a start and noticed that Steve wasn’t in bed either. Looks like he wasn’t the only one with nightmares tonight. It’s been eight years next week since Riley died and the nightmares still pick up speed around this time. This one had just been fire and smoke and screams and wings.

He headed to the kitchen and grabbed a glass of water. Steve was sitting on the couch by the lamp, reading one of Bucky’s Agatha Christie books. Sam went and sat beside him. When he finished his water, Steve took the glass from him and set it on the end table. 

 

“Nightmare?” 

“Yeah. You too?”

“Mmhmm. Riley?” Steve lifted the quilt and made space under his arm. Sam slid over and burrowed into his side.

“Uh huh. Can I tell you something?” Sam picked at a piece of fuzz on the blanket.

“Always.”

“Everyone always assumes that because Riley was my wingman, he was my best friend. He wasn’t though.” Steve looked down at him quizzically. “We worked well together and I didn’t hate the guy, but...he was, well...he was a dick.”

Steve waited for Sam to continue.

“He would say racist shit all the time. Like, ‘I’m not a racist, but…’ and then say something awful. And he’d get drunk and try to hook me up with random women. He was the quintessential dudebro. I think they invented the word dudebro just to describe him.”

“Sounds like a fun guy.” Steve’s voice dripped with sarcasm.

“Everyone else thought he was. And when he died, they were all devastated. And they expected me to be completely devastated too. He was my wingman - of course I must have loved him like a brother. It was totally understandable for me to be broken up about it.”

“But you weren’t.”

Sam shrugged. “I mean, I was upset. I’d worked with him for years at that point and it’s always hard to lose someone. But I...I wasn’t as heartbroken as they all thought I was. I had never really let him in, was never really friends with him.”

Steve studied him for a moment. “You feel guilty about that, don’t you?” 

“Yeah. Maybe if I'd been more open, he would've been...I don't know, different. Better." Sam paused and Steve’s hand gently stroked Sam’s upper arm. "I feel like a jackass. Do you think I’m a jackass?”

“No. I think you are allowed to feel what you feel as long as you handle those emotions in a responsible way,” Steve said, clearly reciting something he had heard many times before.

“Is that right?”

Steve’s smile was soft. “Yep. This real smart guy I know taught me that. He also taught me that you can't take responsibility for everyone around you. That other people have to take ownership of their own issues.”

"He taught you that, did he?" Sam raised an eyebrow.

Steve chucked. "Well, he's trying to teach me that."

Sam leaned up and gave him a kiss. They sat together in the silence for a while longer until Sam yawned.

“You want to head back to bed for a bit longer?” Steve asked.

“That sounds good.” Sam sat up. “You go ahead. I’ll be right behind you.”

“Alright.”

 

Steve kissed his forehead and headed back into the bedroom. Sam sat and breathed, elbows on his knees, head in his hands. He levered himself up off the couch and took his glass back into the kitchen. He turned out the lamp on his way back through the living room and then closed the bedroom door behind him.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Riley is casually racist and homophobic and uses both racial and homophobic slurs. None of them are consciously directed at Sam.


End file.
